The Bonds that Tie Us
by cupof tea ona Sunday Afternoon
Summary: Peter and Edmund are captured mysterious creatures and tortured. violent.


Disclaimers: I am not an heir to C.S. Lewis' work, therefore I do not own it. I believe his sons do… but I'm not entirely sure. Anyway, I give credit to Lewis for all of his characters. Darrus is mine, though even he has elements that were derived from Lewis' world, but isn't this all? The story, I do believe, would be mine. If you find another story that is word for word like this one, it is either mine under a different name or they stole it. This plot has been swimming in my muddled mind for about a week or so.

A/N: Well, this is my first Chronicles of Narnia fanfic, so be gentle on me, won't you? I've only read LWW in full, seen the movie, and am currently reading The Horse and His Boy, but I did read The Magician's Nephew when I was little, but we won't count that b/c all I remember are rings. Blast my interest in other things as a child. Anyhow, this is a warning here: **WARNING**: this chapter, and possibly those that follow, but this chapter in particular is very gory, detailing torture and such. You don't like it, don't read it. It is **NOT **slash, by any stretch of the imagination. People, please. Have some decency, that's all I ask. (I vary rarely stomach slashing of non-cannoned slashy characters well). If you must write it, then you must, but don't expect me to.

End rant.

On with story.

Part One: The Wounds

They couldn't seem to quiet him and no one could even touch him without sending him into another fit of thrashing about until it was sure to do his horribly injured body more harm than good to fight him on it. It was, without a doubt, a royal physician's nightmare come to life. "See if you can't quiet him. Make him lie still; he'll kill himself at this rate. For Aslan's sake, where _is _King Edmund?" the healer demanded.

"One of your men took him to be looked at, sir," a servant told him, shivering next to the large man.

Darrus sighed heavily, reaching one large hand up to his face and attempted to massage the stress from his tired mind. It had been two days ago that the High King had gone missing and only hours since he had been found, though if they had carried him from very far away in the condition he was in at present, he was as strong (or stronger) a man as he had heard. He looked to the bed they had finally gotten the young High King stretched out on and where he lay somewhat more quietly now since everyone had taken a step away from him. "Once more," the physician murmured, "tell me what happened."

"We do not know for certain," the faun that had spoken earlier answered. "His highness King Edmund brought him back, along with a few men and their sisters. He was in no shape to speak, you see. Only King Edmund knows and he was near in a state of shock."

"And why didn't the youngest queen use the cordial that I hear so much of in these parts?" Darrus demanded, irked.

"Why, sir, surely you _are_ new here."

"That much has been made clear," Darrus growled.

"But, sir, you see, King Peter is very peculiar about how his sister uses her cordial. He hardly ever allows it to be used on himself. If I have guessed right, he made her promise not to use it once more. She was sobbing about it when they came."

"And she is where now?"

"We did as you asked and had them wait outside."

"And his brother? The king's brother!"

"On his way as soon as he is well enough, sir. They roughed him up a bit too, but no where near as horridly as King Peter."

"The High King may not be able to wait," Darrus murmured as he looked to the injured man. His skin was as pale as the sheets under him and sweat was beaded against his face and had already soaked his hair through. The truly strange thing, in the healer's opinion, was the lack of free-flowing blood. The only blood on him was that that was caked and dried around what looked like horrible wounds. "Call for Queen Lucy and her cordial."

"His orders, sir…"

"Hang his orders. He is in no state to even know what has healed him. I only hope that she might be able to get him to swallow it."

The faun nodded and was out of the room in an instant. Darrus glared at one of his healers who had tried to approach the High King once more and sent him about moaning and squirming on the bed. "Quit it. We already know you do him harm."

The young queen of Narnia, tired face streaked with tears, entered the chambers. She clutched her cordial tightly in her hands, eyes frantic with worry over her brother's condition. Darrus could see Queen Susan standing just outside the door, trying to assess for herself what the High King's condition might be. There was still no sign of King Edmund and this vexed the royal physician greatly.

"Your majesty," he greeted solemnly.

"Darrus, how is our eldest brother?" Lucy asked. She looked as if it was taking all her will power and strength not to collapse in a fit of sobs.

"Not well, young queen. He is not well at all. He will not let any of my men come near him, much less touch him. His wounds are grave, very grave, and I'm not sure what has kept him alive so far."

Lucy nodded her understanding. "Sir, my cordial… Peter forbade me, but…"

The physician smiled kindly, though it was not a joyous smile. "My thoughts as well, your majesty, though he will not be happy, it may save his life. Whatever force of will has held him to this world thus far will not keep him much longer."

"You said that he would not let anyone near him?" Lucy questioned.

"Not a soul. He keeps calling out for King Edmund."

"I'll fetch him," Susan offered from the doorway. "If it'll help Peter, I know he'll come."

"Then fetch him."

The eldest queen of Narnia nodded and raced off down the way. They would have to quiet Peter, she knew, before they could ever find a chance to slip the potion down his throat. She found her younger brother finishing his examination that he had been dragged off to upon arrival. "Ed?"

Edmund looked up from his dazed stare, eyes locking with his sister's. He blinked once, then again, before they seemed to fully focus on her. "Su? How is he? How is Peter?"

"Not well," she answered quietly. "Please, Edmund, he's begging for you. He won't let anyone touch him. Lucy has no chance of getting the cordial down his throat if he's in this manner."

"Is he conscious?"

"Only half way so, I'd suspect. I didn't get close." She paused, watching her younger brother climb down from the table in which he'd been seated on and move to collect his shirt. She saw bandages tightly wrapped around his wrists and snaking up his arms. "What happened, Ed?"

The younger boy waved off the healer that was fussing and shook his head. "When we have Peter on his way to healing, I'll tell you. Until then, there's not a moment to lose."

Upon entering the High King's chambers one might note the eerie stillness. Darrus had ordered his helpers out and he stood with a grave look edged into his features. Lucy sat a ways from the bed, looking at her brother's far-too-pale face with a longing expression in her eyes. Both looked up on the royal siblings entrance and Lucy bounded over to them, throwing her arms around Susan first and then around Edmund. "Oh Ed! You have to help him!"

Edmund nodded as he approached his brother's bedside, mind flashing back to the horrors that they had been put through. He reached a shaky, bandaged hand to Peter's sweat-drenched face. The elder boy's breathing eased and he seemed to relax slightly, blue eyes fluttering open. "Ed?" he rasped.

The younger king smiled down on him, bent, and placed a kiss on his forehead as the elder had done so many times to him. "Of course. You must relax and let Darrus do his duty to help you, brother."

Peter's breath hitched and a horrible choked cough emitted from him. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain and felt his younger brother's hand gently smoothing his hair back, murmuring quietly to him, calming him like no other in the palace had ever been able to do. He heard the small footsteps of his youngest sister. "Lu… No," he choked. "We've…. discussed…"

"I don't care what we've discussed, Peter," the thirteen-year-old girl said sternly. "You said in dire circumstances only, and these _are _dire. I'm not sure how you've survived thus far."

"Potion," Peter managed, "that they gave… that they gave me… to keep me alive."

"Well let me give you this potion now."

"Only a drop. Promise?"

"Yes. If you'll take it." Promises could be broken, she reminded herself, and if it were a promise that allowed her brother to live, then she'd promise anything. She smiled softly as he relaxed a bit more and took the drop of cordial with no more of a fuss.

Edmund stood to his brother's left, stroking his hair back and reveling in the fact that Peter was breathing. Alive. And even more so, that he was awake. His silent thanks to Aslan were interrupted by the royal physician's call to him and he stooped to kiss his brother and king once more before moving to meet Darrus a few feet away.

"What happened, my lord?" Darrus asked. "I must know the extent of his wounds and what the cordial might not have healed. You were with him the whole time?"

"Yes," the boy said, or rather gasped without meaning to. The images continued to flash through his head.

_Peter was strapped down to the altar, eyes alight with rage as he struggled against the restraints that tied his wrists and ankles to the large block of stone. A potion was forced down his throat and he sputtered. _

"_Your brother's life or yours," a dark man whose name neither had ever learned murmured into the High King's ear. "Such a sacrifice, but I'd rather have you any day."_

"_No!" Edmund yelled. "Please, let him go! I'll take his place! I'll die! Please, don't hurt him!"_

_The blow across the face stunned and quieted the younger king. He shook his head, trying his best to clear it. His dark eyes finally focused on the man – or creature, as they knew not what his lineage was or his kind – and he pulled a rusted, jagged knife from his belt. "Our people," he hissed, "have long awaited your arrival, High King of Narnia, so that our own legend might be fulfilled. We regret it has taken so long for us to meet." A malicious grin spread across his face. _

"_And what might this legend be?" Peter demanded._

"_Your blood on this altar."_

"Your Majesty?"

Edmund's eyes snapped open and he had not even realized that he'd lost himself to the horror of what had happened. "They butchered him," the young king said, voice shaking. "They split him open. It was some sort of ritual, I'm not sure… The leader… he said that there had been a prophecy amongst his people that the High King would spill ever last bit of his blood on that altar…"

Darrus looked as horrified as Edmund felt. "By the Lion's Mane," he gasped. "And the potion his spoke of a moment ago?"

"It…It was meant to keep him alive, and conscious, through the whole ordeal… They needed live blood. It can't be in his system much longer… I can't imagine how. They gave it to him so many hours ago, but I swear to you that it is the only thing keeping him alive." Edmund reached deep in to his pocket and pulled a vile from it. "I swiped it, as we left. Please, my bother must live…"

Darrus nodded his understanding and took the vile from him. "I know this," he murmured. "And I know what to mix it with to ease his pain." He motioned for the young king to follow him to a table set up and he began to work on it. They needed to give the High King another dose as not to lose him to the massive blood loss. "The wounds, King Edmund. I know this is difficult, but I have a hard time believing that her cordial has healed them all."

Edmund stopped for a moment, his eyes focused on something unseen. "All made with a rusted knife," he murmured. "They spilt him, like I said, for his blood. They… They said the ritual was done in the end, that all of his blood had been spilled. He was shivering in such a horrible manner, I thought he'd die."

"He would have without this," Darrus answered, motioning to the vile of potion. "I think I've heard the legend. Did they break bones?"

"One of them got angry. I'm not sure what he said, but they smashed a rock down on his chest and I heard it… from ten feet away, I heard the snapping." Edmund looked back at his brother. He looked uncomfortable, even with the cordial having healed him more than salves ever could. He was sure that Darrus was right, and that the cordial could not have healed him entirely, as there were too many wounds.

"Watch closely, little king," the leader spat at Edmund as he brought the knife down close to his brother's pale, bare skin. One could see the bruises formed from the beating he'd taken with the rock against his chest and the High King gasped as the tip touched his belly, bringing forth a small dot of red. The knife was pushed deeper and deeper until the red blood began to spread, turning darker. It was then slid across his stomach, as if the man meant to gut him then and there.

Peter tried desperately not to cry out as he struggled against the restraints, back arching in pain. He coughed and sputtered, teeth clenched to hold back his cries. "I suppose," the leader said as he held the knife still for a moment, "that this can go deeper, as you will not be killed by these wounds, eh?" It did go deeper and Edmund saw Peter arch against the restraints as the horrible weapon pierced through his back and was ripped from his side. Blood spurted all around on the altar, causing the wounded king to gasp in shock. The creature, for Edmund could not see him as anything more than an animal (if that), grinned evilly again as he dug the dagger deep in the Peter's other side, bringing it out in the same fashion. At this the High King cried out in pain. "See there? Not so bad to yell out? Oh? Did it hurt? You'll be done here soon enough."

They let him lay there for a moment or two, gasping and sputtering against the blood that soaked him and the altar below him. His eyes connected with Edmund's for a moment. 'Get out, as soon as you can,' they seemed to say and the younger king nearly cried. He always thought of his brother and sister, even if he were dying.

"Come now, we're not done," the one with the knife said as he bent over his captive and laid a hand roughly against his injured midsection. He pressed down, fingers curling against the wound. Peter choked at this, blood spilling from his lips. "Good boy," his captor murmured almost affectionately as he moved his hand upward towards the injured king's badly beaten chest. He pressed down with his hand then, causing him to squirm, and then brought the knife down to his belly once more, just below the wound he had inflicted. It dug into his tender flesh, crossing with the already inflamed and bleeding line that stretched all the way across and pulled the knife upward. Peter gasped as more blood seemed to be pouring upward into his throat, choking him. The knife stopped just as it reached his sternum and the creature moved into sight, watching the king sputter for a moment, groaning in pain that no one could or should bear. "I believe," he hissed, "that one of my lessers was kind enough to break this-"he pressed roughly against the broken bones in his chest – "for me. Makes this process so much easier, wouldn't you say?"

"Wha-"Peter began before the knife was jerked harshly up through his cracked sternum and upward – a little to the right as to purposefully miss his heart – and he was left there, gasping a moment, every movement causing more agony. His back had involuntarily arched upward against all the pain and he felt a rough hand against his injured stomach. "Easy now, King Peter, you wouldn't want to hurt yourself, would you?" the now familiar voice sneered as he pushed against him. He leaned closer, near his ear, and whispered, "You should be thankful those bones were broken, High King, or I would have slipped the knife under the bones. Take a moment to imagine that, would you?"

"Let him alone!" Edmund screamed. "Please!"

This only egged the creature on as he pressed down more firmly and was rewarded with a howl of pain that died off into a whimper that one might never suspect from the High King. As the rough hands dug deeper into the wounds, bringing more and more blood from them, Peter's body convulsed under the pressure. He gasped and sputtered, blood coming from his mouth and snaking its way down his lips and chin. He moaned as his hair was roughly used to pull him up and both kings heard the orders for the bonds to be cut, for they were no longer needed.

"Internal wounds, I would suppose," Darrus murmured as he finished his mixture and moved towards the injured man in the bed. Sweat still glistened on his forehead, showing signs of the pain that was etched into his young face. "Now then," the physician said slowly, "I'd like you to try and drink this, your majesty, and let me take a look at what your sister's potion could not do."

"You don't think…?" Lucy began, in awe that the man might take it into consideration.

"I think it's best not to take your cordial for granted, my queen," Darrus answered truthfully as he helped Peter swallow the potion in his hand. He set the glass aside and pulled back the bed sheets. Dark purple and yellow bruises marred his fair skin and chest. There was really no better place to start than the place where it was most obvious that the cordial had had the least amount of effectiveness. Darrus reached gentle hands down to probe the bone beneath the discoloured skin.

Peter's eyes, which had been momentarily closed, opened wide and he began to thrash about. "No!"

"My lord!" Darrus protested, holding him down by the shoulders. "Your majesty, I must have a look!"

Edmund was by his brother's side instantly, calming him and speaking gently into his ear. Peter seemed to quiet enough with the young king next to him, gripping one hand firmly. Darrus used the moment to check for any breaks where it had been shattered not an hour before. His skilled hands moved down the young king's rib cage and to his belly, where scars seemed all that was left on the outside of the horrible, jagged wounds that he'd come to the palace with.

"How is he?" Susan asked from behind.

"Better, much better, thanks to you, Queen Lucy." He smiled at her and the young queen beamed. "Now, I'll want to wrap those ribs, just to give them extra support. Where apparently they were shattered before they are only fractures now. What I'm truly worried about is the lack of… well the lack of blood. The only thing really keeping him going at the moment is the potion they gave him."

"They didn't expect me to live," Peter managed, his voice dim sounding from his bed.

"I'd suspect not, no."

"What do we do now, Darrus?" Susan asked. "Is there anything to be done?"

"Yes, always, m'lady. His highness is to rest. It's the only way to ensure any sort of recovery for him."

"Did you hear that, Peter?" Lucy asked, peering over the bedside at her tired brother's face. His eyes were only open a fraction. "You're to rest."

"No arguments here," Peter whispered, already drifting to sleep.

"I put something to ease the pain in that potion," Darrus explained. "It will put him out for a bit, at least, but someone will need to stay with-"

"I'll stay with him."

Every eye turned to Edmund in protest.

"Don't say it, any of you," Edmund grumbled. "I'm perfectly fine, and you can already tell that he's calmer when I'm here, so it's the best way to have it."

As no one could find a firm argument against the latter statement they left the two brothers in peace.

A rough hand tugged at his hair, pulling him upward and tugging the restraints at his wrists and ankles. He gasped as pain seared through him.

"Cut the ropes!" the voice called out and he could feel his bonds being loosened.

"Keep those pretty eyes open, High King," a voice sneered and Peter struggled with all his might to obey as to avoid any more pain. As he felt his eyes begin to lull again the dagger was plunged deep into his belly once more, ripping him apart from the inside out as it was pulled back out at an angle. The king forced down the rising sickness at the gore than had come from him. "You're not dead yet," the voice purred.

Peter felt himself thrown face down on the altar and sticky, warm blood began to pull beneath him. He coughed and wretched on the ground, feeling his body convulse and being helpless to stop it. "Aslan… have… mercy," he gasped.

"Aslan won't save you now, boy."

His breath hitched as he felt a boot come smashing into his back, shoving him against the ground harder. His ribs and chest cried out in pain and he felt loose gravel burry itself inside his open, bleeding wounds. He coughed again, blood flowing from his lips and he could hear Edmund screaming his name as his body writhed in what seemed to be death throws. But he wasn't dying. No, he knew he wasn't because they would not let him die.

"Don't move so much, High King," the voice sneered overhead. His boot pressed against the injured man's back, keeping him from convulsing. The heel of the boot dug deeply, pushing him into the unmoving stone beneath him. Peter let out a low groan of pain and felt as if something in him exploded before his whole body went limp. He felt tired, very tired, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to sleep. Instead, he merely stared straight ahead.

"Poor little king," the voice murmured, pulling him so he lay on his side. It hurt, but it was a distant hurt. "It's done then," he heard and received a harsh kick to the midsection. He coughed and moaned, but could find no strength to call out. He was sure that both lungs had long since collapsed and if it was 'done' as they had said, then he had, literally, not a drop of blood left in his body. He felt himself lifted up, the jagged knife shoved into his belly once more, and the creature laughed, throwing the High King onto his stomach once more, knife only digging deeper. It brought forth no blood.

"Please," he heard himself beg miserably. "Please… no more."

"Please…."

Edmund woke to his brother's muffled whispers and saw the pain etched into his pale features. "Peter?" he murmured. "Peter, you need to wake up." He stroked the elder boy's hair back gently, letting his hand rest there. "Please, Peter? I can't lose you."

A pair of blue eyes fluttered open and stared at the boy leaning over. "Ed?" Peter managed.

"Yes, I'm here."

"By the lion," the High King gasped. "It hurts."

"Should I get Darrus?"

"No. No, please, stay here until it passes."

Edmund took his seat once more, telling himself that it was more the fear from the dream that had his brother worked up. He would feel weak, of course, but the pain should mostly be gone. He felt Peter groping for his hand and he reached and took it. His grip was surprisingly firm for as ill as he was and Edmund smiled. "You're going to get better," he promised quietly.

"Mm…" was the only response he received.

"Peter?" Edmund murmured quietly, gazing on his brother's relaxed features. When he received no response he knelt on the floor and laid his head against the bed, praying silently and thanking Aslan that his brother was home safe and begging for him to bring the elder king out of this… somehow.

A/N: I have a confession. I have addictions. It's sad, it's true. One of them is tea. I'm absolutely in love with it. Another is books. Thirdly, no not pot, but reviews! Yes! Give me your reviews! Give them to me now! Make them pleasant, I beg of you.

TBC

Cup of Tea on a Sunday Afternoon in the Park with a Good Book bids you farewell until next chapter.


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